Stars Gods Wolves by Dan Kirshtein (best classic books .txt) 📕

a vine. It was one long braid that hadn’t been managed in some time. When Martin excitedly looked back at the others, he noticed Josie’s face had changed to sympathetic.

The Herulean girl looked to the doctor again before putting the helmet on. Martin spoke slowly and calmly, in an encouraging tone that hid his shame. “That’s it. Can you understand me now?” She nodded, and he endeavored to keep his words simple. “Good. We’re friends. My name is Martin.” He looked at her and waited before asking, “What’s yours?”

“Ula.” Her voice was small, fragile, and very tired.

“Where are your parents?” Josie’s voice came over the coms. It wasn’t as patient or as gentle as Martin’s; she just spoke normally, though her voice showed concern.

Ula’s face softened, her bottom lip curled. While they couldn’t see it due to the visor, tears grew in her eyes. Seeing her reaction, Martin couldn’t speak; a lump sat in his throat. His mind raced with the idea that he might have been the reason this girl was an orphan. He froze in guilt, staring at the girl.

Josie walked to him, placing a hand on the doctor’s back before speaking to the child. “Would you like to come with us? Are you hungry?” she asked, without first asking the captain for permission. Nitro bit his lip in disagreement, but didn’t protest.

They could see the tears falling past the visor as the girl nodded. “Okay,” Martin’s voice tried to gather strength as he got to one knee. “Okay.” As he stood, he extended a hand to the child. She took it.

He heard Nitro behind him; even without the coms, he could tell his tone was nervous, yet professional. “Alright, let’s go,” he said, scanning the area.

Nitro had made it clear to the doctor that the Carrion was an enemy he didn’t understand. They didn’t fight for survival, territory, or a cause. From what he’d seen, and from what Boomer had relayed to him, they only seemed to be going after people for fun, which freed them from using tactics or any reasonable course of action that soldiers would take. Even in the case of Research Station 4, they played with it first, and then ate it. An enemy with no territory could, and did, come from anywhere at any time, but the girl who lit the beacon didn’t look concerned about it. The captain waved a hand in a forward motion, and Purple Company began to move. Martin made sure that he and the girl stayed in the center of the group.

“Did you do that?” The doctor could be heard as they walked, his chin gesturing toward the building with the signal. The girl nodded before looking up at the doctor. “It’s very good.”

When the sun rose, the wind picked up and the gray snow whipped and whirled around the buildings. Gally stood atop a tall building, and she was grateful for the warmth of the environmental suit. She watched Nitro walk along the roof as well, staring upward at the three large burn marks in the sky. Although they’d begun to fade, they were a roadmap, leading the party directly to the people who had shot them down. They would also lead Gally to Rook. Her expression when she glanced at the marks was very different.

She felt Nitro’s eyes on her. When she looked at him, she couldn’t tell what his eyes meant. “All this, it’s for you, isn’t it?” His voice was deep, pensive. He worried her when he was calm. He had this eerie attractiveness; the dark and temporary serenity of the eye of a hurricane.

Looking into his eyes for that brief moment, she wanted to be free: wanted to be her young, reckless college-aged self who would have run away with him. But that girl, and those years, were far away from her. Now, there was a fire that needed to be fed. “We’re not having this talk right now.” She stepped forward, staring at the large complex in the distance.

Nitro huffed, finally looking away from her, as a smile appeared on his face. Holding one finger against the corner of his visor, he enabled the binocular feature. The outline of a large, black building sat in the distance. It was a makeshift airbase, even to the eyes of a government desk jockey. The runway was large, but it had several huge ships on it. The mercenary finally changed the subject. “Well, some good news. Those aren’t troop transports.”

“How do you know?” she inquired, thankful for his civility.

“Seen my fair share of military transports. Automaton assholes conceal their numbers. They crunch together like sardines. Those look like sardine cans to you?” He gestured.

Gally leaned forward and squinted, not seeing Nitro roll his eyes before walking over to her. He grabbed her gloved hand and gently extended her index finger. She shot him a look as he placed her index finger against a button on the visor. The visor whirred as the binoculars activated. “Ah.” Her hand didn’t budge, she didn’t remove it from his, nor did she falter in any way. She examined the large, clunky, square ships with rounded edges. They were being filled with other large containers. “No, they do not,” she replied, looking back in time to see him step back.

“They’re up to something,” Nitro muttered before stepping even further away from the ledge. “This is shitty.” He began to pace.

Gally slid a hand under the helmet to rub her eyes as the visor reverted back to normal. “Well, you can name your price when it’s finished.”

“That’s my fucking point, Ramone!” The captain walked back toward her, his voice raised. “This whole thing’s a suicide run! There ain’t no finish!”

She blinked and looked down, dropping her hands to her side. Her lip curled, and her left foot tapped against the roof. After a sigh, she pressed him. “I knew you needed a pilot. Did I tell you that?” The captain’s anger froze for a minute; his posture suggested he